While
everything the NMA was doing was criminal, many of the American people
considered Cromwell a folk hero. Whenever the FBI raided a suspected NMA camp,
the group had somehow got wind of the impending attack and left in a hurry. It
was no longer believed that Cromwell and his men had a permanent base of
operations. They moved from town to town, working with local militias and
rebels to house and feed them.
And
their attacks were moving eastward across the country.
47
scanned the rest of the document and went to another. Titled “The New Model
Army and the Church of Will,” the folder contained several files. He spent the
next half hour going through each one, but they were inconclusive. The only
suspicious activity in evidence was that cellphone calls had been made to and from suspected NMA camps and the Church of Will main
headquarters in Virginia. The FBI had attempted to legally tap landlines in
Wilkins’s compound, but more than one judge had denied permission. 47 was
surprised that the Bureau hadn’t gone ahead and done it anyway. Apparently
Wilkins held more power and influence than the hitman had imagined, but there was no substantiation that the reverend himself was
involved with the NMA.
One
file contained a satellite image and corresponding map of Greenhill, the Church
of Will’s compound in Virginia. Blueprints revealed the layout of Wilkins’s
mansion. 47 found it interesting that the man’s home was so well protected. A bulletproof wall-sized picture window facing a lake? Surely the man wasn’t afraid of being attacked by an amphibious landing force.
Nevertheless, the hitman thought the file might come
in handy, especially if he had to go through with an undercover operation. A
spindle of blank CD-Rs sat on the desk, so he took one, inserted it into the
computer, and copied the ground plan onto the disk.
“Are
you done yet?” Cherry called from the top of the stairs.
He
ejected the disk and took it. “Yes.”
She
came down and looked at the screen. “Get what you needed?”
“I
suppose.”
She
took over the mouse and keyboard and closed the software.
“Cherry,
you down there?” a male voice called from the top of the stairs. They both
heard footsteps descending.
“Shit!”
Cherry whispered. “My ex! We have to—”
Before
she or 47 could move, a man appeared, wide-eyed and mouth gaping. He was a
little older than Cherry and was dressed in a suit.
“What
the hell is this? Since when did we have this extra room in our house?” Then he
saw the guns and other weapons. “What the—” He turned to 47. “Who the hell are
you?” Back to Cherry. “You will tell me what the fuck
is going on here now.”
“Bill,
calm down; it’s my house now, and this is not what you think,” Cherry said, but
47 noted she was obviously distressed. She had also left the Smith & Wesson
upstairs. “And how the hell did you get in? The judge said you weren’t allowed
to have a key.”
“Yes,
let’s call the judge!” the man said, moving toward his ex-wife. “You’ve got my
kids living in a house with goddamned weapons? Wait until my lawyer hears this!
You’ll never see those brats again.”
Agent
47 did have the presence of mind, despite the commotion, to slip to the foot of
the stairs and stand there, blocking Bill’s exit.
The
former couple continued to yell at each other. Clearly, the man couldn’t leave
the house with knowledge of Cherry’s extracurricular activities. Too many
people would be hurt, and the assassin would lose a valuable asset. And didn’t
she say the man used to beat
everything the NMA was doing was criminal, many of the American people
considered Cromwell a folk hero. Whenever the FBI raided a suspected NMA camp,
the group had somehow got wind of the impending attack and left in a hurry. It
was no longer believed that Cromwell and his men had a permanent base of
operations. They moved from town to town, working with local militias and
rebels to house and feed them.
And
their attacks were moving eastward across the country.
47
scanned the rest of the document and went to another. Titled “The New Model
Army and the Church of Will,” the folder contained several files. He spent the
next half hour going through each one, but they were inconclusive. The only
suspicious activity in evidence was that cellphone calls had been made to and from suspected NMA camps and the Church of Will main
headquarters in Virginia. The FBI had attempted to legally tap landlines in
Wilkins’s compound, but more than one judge had denied permission. 47 was
surprised that the Bureau hadn’t gone ahead and done it anyway. Apparently
Wilkins held more power and influence than the hitman had imagined, but there was no substantiation that the reverend himself was
involved with the NMA.
One
file contained a satellite image and corresponding map of Greenhill, the Church
of Will’s compound in Virginia. Blueprints revealed the layout of Wilkins’s
mansion. 47 found it interesting that the man’s home was so well protected. A bulletproof wall-sized picture window facing a lake? Surely the man wasn’t afraid of being attacked by an amphibious landing force.
Nevertheless, the hitman thought the file might come
in handy, especially if he had to go through with an undercover operation. A
spindle of blank CD-Rs sat on the desk, so he took one, inserted it into the
computer, and copied the ground plan onto the disk.
“Are
you done yet?” Cherry called from the top of the stairs.
He
ejected the disk and took it. “Yes.”
She
came down and looked at the screen. “Get what you needed?”
“I
suppose.”
She
took over the mouse and keyboard and closed the software.
“Cherry,
you down there?” a male voice called from the top of the stairs. They both
heard footsteps descending.
“Shit!”
Cherry whispered. “My ex! We have to—”
Before
she or 47 could move, a man appeared, wide-eyed and mouth gaping. He was a
little older than Cherry and was dressed in a suit.
“What
the hell is this? Since when did we have this extra room in our house?” Then he
saw the guns and other weapons. “What the—” He turned to 47. “Who the hell are
you?” Back to Cherry. “You will tell me what the fuck
is going on here now.”
“Bill,
calm down; it’s my house now, and this is not what you think,” Cherry said, but
47 noted she was obviously distressed. She had also left the Smith & Wesson
upstairs. “And how the hell did you get in? The judge said you weren’t allowed
to have a key.”
“Yes,
let’s call the judge!” the man said, moving toward his ex-wife. “You’ve got my
kids living in a house with goddamned weapons? Wait until my lawyer hears this!
You’ll never see those brats again.”
Agent
47 did have the presence of mind, despite the commotion, to slip to the foot of
the stairs and stand there, blocking Bill’s exit.
The
former couple continued to yell at each other. Clearly, the man couldn’t leave
the house with knowledge of Cherry’s extracurricular activities. Too many
people would be hurt, and the assassin would lose a valuable asset. And didn’t
she say the man used to beat
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